


Working On It

by mardia



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-26
Updated: 2010-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-10 19:59:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardia/pseuds/mardia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy's still something of a work-in-progress, but at least he's aware of it. Academy-era fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Working On It

_I tried to warn you, I've been a mess since you've known me  
I can't promise forever but I'm working on it._  
\- Can I Have A Kiss - Kelly Clarkson

 

They say that misery loves company, and while McCoy can't speak for the entire universe, he can speak for himself. And yeah, it's true, because on the days when he's miserable, the only people he wants around him—if he's absolutely got to put up with people at all— are other miserable people.

Which is probably why he's sitting at the bar, listening to one of the other medical students in his xenochem class lament over the end of his five-year marriage.

Andrew Chen's staring morosely into his drink and saying, "Half my friends want me to start dating again, but I swear to God, McCoy, the thought of going out there makes me want to break out in hives."

"So don't," McCoy says with a shrug. "If you aren't ready, then you aren't."

McCoy pointedly does not think about how long it took him to fall into bed with Jim Kirk. Or rather, how long it _didn't_ take him. He also does not turn around to look at where Jim is currently beating the pants off a couple of cadets at pool.

"Yeah, but _when_ do I get ready, that's the question," Andrew insists, with the conviction of the very, very drunk. He stares down at his glass of whiskey, then asks quietly, his shoulders hunched, "You ever thinking about starting over with someone new? Doing it over again?"

McCoy blinks at him. "What, you mean like marriage?"

Andrew turns to look him in the eye. "Well...yeah. I don't mean now, but someday. Down the road. You think you'll get married again?"

McCoy forces himself not to blurt out his automatic response, and he tries to actually think about it for a second. But in the end, he comes back to the same thing, that moment in his lawyer's office, when he realized he didn't want to fight for a single thing in his old life, including Jocelyn.

"No," McCoy says, and takes a long sip of his drink.

Later, as they're stumbling back to their dorm room, Jim asks, "Hey, so what'd Chen want with you tonight, anyway?"

McCoy tries to shrug, but with Jim's arm slung across his shoulders, that's easier said than done, "Wanted to get my opinion on life post-divorce," McCoy slurs, concentrating to make sure his feet don't get tangled up with Jim's as they walk down the street. "Like I'm such an expert."

Jim laughs. "I don't know," he says with exaggerated consideration. "You don't seem to be doing so bad, Bones."

McCoy looks Jim over, not even attempting to be subtle about it. "No," he says, considering. "Don't suppose I am."

 

*

Out of all the family members that McCoy's still on speaking terms with, his mother's the one he still talks to the most.

It's not easy, not yet. There's still that lingering twist of shame and guilt in his gut every time he looks at his mother's face, still that expectation that she'll walk away, that her anger over what he did will finally come to the surface, that she'll somehow stop seeing him as her son, and start seeing him as the man who took her husband away.

A part of him knows that's irrational—it's just not the part of him that McCoy usually listens to.

Needless to say, McCoy's relationship with his mother, as much as he loves her, and as much as she loves him—well, it's complicated.

And it's absolutely not something that he's interested in talking about. So when Jim walks in, halfway through McCoy's weekly chat with his mother, McCoy glares at him and surreptitiously tries to get him to leave the room for a bit so McCoy can have some privacy and chat with his mother in peace.

Jim, however, decides to play dumb and sticks around, out of sight, while McCoy has a somewhat stilted—on his end at least—conversation with his mother over what's been happening with the neighbors, and his cousin Emily entering into an engagement to a trio of Andorians and now nobody was quite sure how many presents it was appropriate to give to a wedding where there were four people getting married, and how his presence was "absolutely mandatory, and don't give me any excuses about work or school. Besides, honey, how many times do you get a chance to go to an Andorian wedding?"

"I'll try my best to be there," McCoy promises, trying not to glance at Jim. "Listen, Mama, I've got a lot of work I need to get to tonight—"

"Of course," she says, readily accepting his excuse, and something twinges inside his gut at that. "I'll talk to you later, sweetheart. Take care, and I love you."

"Love you too," McCoy says immediately, and his mother gives him a little wave with his fingers right before she ends the call. As the screen goes dark, McCoy turns his chair to face Jim and ask, a tinge of acid in his voice, "You get a kick out of listening to people's private conversations?"

Jim doesn't seem to notice his ire, just nods his head over at the vidscreen and asks, "So, that was your mom?"

"Gee, what gave it away?" McCoy asks, still feeling surly. "The part where I called her 'mama'?"

Jim looks at him, and his gaze is sharper now. "No, I just didn't know your mom was still alive." There's a challenge in his voice, and alarm bells are starting to ring in McCoy's head.

He doesn't want to have this conversation. Mostly because it's a minefield for him and for Jim, whose relationships with his own family members are just as complicated as McCoy's relationship to his family, and after the divorce from Jocelyn, McCoy had sworn off looking for reasons to have a fight.

"Well, she is," McCoy says, turning away from Jim. "She's still in Georgia, teaching piano and working on her garden."

"You've never mentioned her," Jim presses on. "In fact, I don't think I've ever heard you talk about her. Or the rest of your family."

"You're probably right on that," McCoy says, continuing to stare at the screen where he's supposedly checking missed messages and comms, and a part of him hears the way he's sounding right now, his voice cold and even, and hates it.

There's a brief pause before Jim says, "Bones. Are you seriously going to try and play dumb right now?"

McCoy's jaw clenches for a second. "Depends," he says finally. "You going to come out and ask what you want to already?"

Jim's quiet for a second, then he comes out and asks. "What's the deal with you and your family, Bones? Do you just not get along with them or something?"

"I get along with them just fine," McCoy says repressively, ignoring the first question.

Not that Jim's going to let him get away with that. "Yeah? Then how come you never talk about them? How come this is the first time I'm hearing about your mom?"

"Because I didn't want to talk about my family," McCoy says. "I still don't."

He sees a flash of something appear on Jim's face, and then Jim's saying, his voice even, "It's not like I haven't told you stuff about my family, Bones."

McCoy won't be proud about this later, but his first response to this isn't guilt, or rather, it's not just guilt—rather, it's a complicated mix of guilt and further aggravation, as illogical as it might seem.

So McCoy finally says, controlling his voice as best as he can, "I understand that, Jim, and I'm glad that you did, but this isn't quid pro quo here. Just because you've shared doesn't mean that I'm obligated to tell you all the horrible parts of my own history."

The minute the words are out of his mouth, McCoy's expecting Jim to flare up at him, for this to turn into a real fight, angry and loud, with harsh things said on both sides.

In the back of his mind, McCoy thinks he might already have a head start on that last part.

But instead, Jim looks down at the floor for a moment, and then looks back up, his face unreadable.

"You know, you're going to have to learn to trust me sometime, Bones," is all he says as he gets up from his chair, his voice matter-of-fact, but McCoy's not deaf, he can hear the hurt lurking underneath.

The apology's on the tip of his tongue, but the only apology that would mean anything is an explanation, and God help him, McCoy can't give that, not yet.

"Jim, please," he hears himself say out loud. "Just—I can't talk about that yet, okay?"

Jim turns to look at him, and McCoy doesn't know what's on his face right now, but whatever it is makes Jim soften, makes him say, "It's okay, Bones," even though McCoy can tell it really isn't.

That's the last time Jim brings up the subject of McCoy's family, and McCoy knows he shouldn't be as relieved by that as he is. But what he said was true—he's in no shape to talk about dead fathers and his failure as both a son and doctor, not even to Jim. Especially not to Jim.

But Jim never tries to press him again, and McCoy wishes he could thank him for that, but the words stay in his throat, stillborn.

*

They go back to normal, eventually. Jim doesn't act any differently than he normally does, and after a while, McCoy stops expecting him to.

They're drinking together in their room, sharing a bottle of whiskey that they're passing back and forth, celebrating the end of finals before the winter break, when Jim asks what McCoy's planning to do for the holidays.

McCoy shrugs. "Stay here, pick up some shifts at the clinic. You?"

"Same," Jim agrees. "The manager at the restaurant says he could use me over the holidays." Jim focuses on the floor as he asks, his voice a little too obvious to be really casual, "You're not going back to Georgia to see—people?"

McCoy glances over at him, but keeps his voice casual as he replies, "Nah. Besides, my mother's coming up for about a week to visit, and she's really the only one I want to see." He pauses, but he's been meaning to ask for a few days now, and this is the best opening he's gotten so far. "Thought I might introduce you two, if you're around."

Jim looks up at that, his eyes wide. "You—yeah?"

"Don't look so shocked, I'm just inviting you to dinner," McCoy grumps, mostly as a way to distract from the wide-eyed, pleased look on Jim's face. "And I'm warning you now; my mother'll try to stuff you full of food, so I hope you show up hungry."

Jim grins at him. "Yeah, Bones, I think I can manage that."

*

Jim falls back on the bed with a muffled thump, and McCoy clambers on top of him, rolling his hips downward as he tugs lightly on Jim's mouth for a second with his teeth, and then turning his attention elsewhere, licking a stripe along Jim's jawline, stubble rasping along his tongue.

"Fuck, Bones," Jim groans finally, his hands clamping down on McCoy's hips. "Stop teasing already and just _do_ something."

McCoy lifts his head and considers it for a moment, looks at the flush on Jim's cheeks, the way his eyes gleam. "Make me," he says, and Jim's eyes flash for a moment, and McCoy's really not surprised at all when Jim flips them both over on the bed, so that now he's the one pinned down now, with a triumphant Jim on top of him.

Jim leans in until their mouths are just a millimeter apart and then says, his breath hot against McCoy's mouth, "You really shouldn't have said that, Bones."

"I disagree," McCoy says, flexing his hips up, making Jim groan and bite his lip for a moment, his hands tightening around McCoy's wrists.

Their clothes come off faster than he would have thought possible, although there's a break about midway where Jim pins him down again and sucks and bites at his nipples until McCoy's practically keening, his hands tugging at Jim's hair because he doesn't know whether to pull him off or pull him in closer, but Jim's mouth has always done impossible things to him, this is nothing new, but fantastic all the same.

Finally they're naked, and McCoy's lying back on the bed, trying and failing to catch his breath while Jim rummages around for the bottle of medical-grade lube they always end up misplacing.

"Goddamn, where is—" he hears Jim muttering, and then a noise of victory, and Jim's clambering back onto the bed, on top of him, warm skin everywhere and McCoy groans and clutches him closer, his head falling back against the pillow.

"So, you gonna fuck me or what?" he asks roughly, and he feels Jim shuddering against him, just once, but then Jim's sitting up and slicking up his fingers, and McCoy spreads his legs wider without being told.

Someday, McCoy thinks distantly, his hips rising as Jim slides that first finger into him, he's going to tell Jim that he's the first man McCoy's ever slept with. He hadn't said anything that first time, because they were in an alley and drunk off their heads, and he won't say anything now, but someday he will.

Jim pushes in a second finger, and McCoy groans, his hips jerking forward. "Fuck, Jim, do it already," he orders, and a quick smile flashes across Jim's face, fading back into that focused look Jim gets on occasion—usually when he's got McCoy naked beneath him.

"Aren't you the one telling me to be careful?" he jokes, and McCoy would snap back except that Jim's fingers are scissoring and twisting inside of him, and there are better things to be doing right now anyway.

"You're careful, I get it, now fuck me already," McCoy growls, and that's it, the magic words Jim apparently needed to hear, because he's pulling his fingers out and slicking up his cock, and then McCoy's wrapping his legs around Jim as he pushes into him, a smooth, steady thrust that has McCoy's breath catching in his throat.

"Jesus," he groans, and Jim laughs breathlessly, dropping his head into the nape of McCoy's neck.

"Not my name, but it'll do," he mumbles, his hips rocking forward, making McCoy gasp and then Jim's pushing himself up on his arms and kissing McCoy while they fuck, finding that easy rhythm they always have, McCoy's fingers digging bruises into Jim's back that he'll have to heal later.

Jim's still kissing him now, sloppier and less focused, his breath coming in gusts as he starts to fuck McCoy fast, his hips moving more roughly now, and McCoy groans as he slips a hand between them to jerk himself off, his grip tight.

"Yeah, that's right," Jim mutters, his voice low and rich, "get yourself off, let me see you lose it," and McCoy's teeth are gritted, and he squeezes his eyes shut because it's all so much, his hand on his cock and Jim moving inside of him, Jim's eyes on his face like he's the most fascinating thing in the world.

When he comes, he bites his lip hard enough that for a second, he thinks he might have drawn blood, but no, and then his eyes are open again, staring up at Jim while Jim fucks into him, faster and faster still, and then he's coming, his head bowed while his hips jerk into McCoy, a soft groan escaping him.

He collapses on top of McCoy, warm and sweaty, breathing hotly into his neck for a moment, and McCoy doesn't complain, just idly strokes Jim's back while they catch their breaths together.

Finally, Jim places a kiss where McCoy's jawline meets his neck and pulls out of him, McCoy wincing slightly at the stretch and burn, but Jim immediately curls up around him, his face tucked into McCoy's neck and his arm slung around McCoy's waist, holding him in close, even though McCoy really doesn't have any intentions of going anywhere.

"One of us should get the washcloth so we can clean up," he murmurs quietly at last.

Jim hums in agreement. "I'll do it." He doesn't make any move to get up, though, and McCoy laughs quietly.

"Sure, you say that now, but I'll bet anything you're going to fall asleep on me in a minute."

"Excuse me, but when have I fallen asleep on anyone, especially you?" Jim asks a little indignantly, raising his head to look McCoy in the eye, and McCoy grins back at him.

"Never, but there's always a first time for everything," he shoots back, and Jim makes a face at him, his nose wrinkling, and McCoy has to laugh at it.

Jim's grinning back at him now, his eyes soft and his face open, and McCoy holds his gaze for a moment before leaning in to kiss him.

In the back of his head, McCoy acknowledges that he still doesn't quite know what to do with the way that Jim looks at him sometimes, but he's starting to think he'll figure it out eventually.


End file.
